


For a Given Value of Normal

by mystiri1



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Community: ff_exchange, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-05
Updated: 2011-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystiri1/pseuds/mystiri1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things have changed a lot over the course of a few years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For a Given Value of Normal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



It's strange, Tseng thinks, how quickly a person's definition of 'normal' can change, how quickly they can accustom themselves to different circumstances. For the past two years, normal has been Healin Lodge with Rufus growing more ill with every day; frantic scrambling to recover and secure assets while leaving the general public aware they were even alive; a desperate quest to ensure a future for the new ShinRa Corporation while trying not to wonder if there would even be a Shinra to run it.

Yet this, too, feels normal: they have a company again, more and more Turks wearing the uniform, halls full of employees and desks and paperwork and Rufus sitting in his office, happily pulling strings and manipulating contracts. It's where the two of these normalities clash that things become surreal.

Rufus is cured. After only a few short weeks of physical therapy (because Rufus isn't inclined to be any more patient with his own shortcomings than he is with those of other people – even less so, if anything) he is up and about, every bit as energetic and dynamic as he was before. More, if Tseng considered those stressful few weeks before Meteor. And as soon as he was confident of his own physical strength, they were moving: in this case, into that same half-completed office building in Edge that Rufus threw himself off of only a few weeks before.

Tseng is less than happy about that. He doesn't like the new ShinRa headquarters. The building's unfinished state means there are countless construction workers and subcontractors in and out every day. It's a security nightmare. It's made worse by Rufus's insistence that after hiding for so long, they now need to be visible, to make a statement. Tseng doesn't think that two years is long enough for the general public to forget their grudges, and he's glad that more Turks are returning to the fold, because he needs all the extra hands he can get.

And if he's completely honest with himself, he dislikes the building precisely because Rufus threw himself off one of the top floors. Admittedly, there were extreme circumstances at work, but it is the sort of reckless action that any good bodyguard does not want his employer making a habit.

* * * * *

Sumptuous rugs decorate the floor of Rufus's new office, covering for the fact that carpet has yet to be laid. Rufus sits behind a solid-looking ebony desk, the finish a glossy black that Tseng can almost see his own reflection in. He deliberately doesn't look past Rufus to the windows, which are currently large sheets of clear plastic nailed to the frames. It moves with the wind, billowing in and out with a snapping noise, letting the occasional gust of air in through the corner. Rufus ignores it, although the stack of papers on the corner of his desk is firmly secured with a heavy-looking paperweight.

Rufus signs another page with a flourish and hands it across the desk. Tseng tucks in into his own collection of papers. “Anything else?” Rufus asks.

Tseng hesitates. On the one hand, it is not his place to ask. On the other – after the past two years, there are very little boundaries left between Rufus and his best Turks. They've seen each other at their worst, stayed loyal throughout. And it _is_ his place to discourage Rufus from taking unnecessary risks.

“Is it truly necessary to keep asking Strife to work for you? We both know he won't say yes, and I would prefer it if Reno and Rude didn't get themselves killed for no purpose.” Reno and Rude are his men after all, and he is almost certain Strife won't come looking for Rufus to settle the matter. Mostly. He does hang around with fellow ex-terrorists, and AVALANCHE has resurrected itself several times to come after ShinRa once more.

Rufus smiles, and it's a little disconcerting. “I know. But it is fun to annoy him, and I do need some of those packages delivered fairly urgently. I doubt Reno and Rude are in any danger of being killed. I believe they mostly use it as an excuse to go and drink Miss Lockhart's beer, which I understand is very good. She brews it herself.”

There's something about that look that has Tseng glancing around the room before he even knows what he is looking for: the sleek black form of Dark Nation. Up until now, the only time Tseng has seen that look in Rufus's eyes is when he's walked in on the two of them playing on the floor – Rufus mischievous and happy, the deadly black coeurl as playful as an overgrown kitten. Even then, the second somebody else appeared, they'd both be up like a shot, pulling their dignity around them and daring the interloper to say anything. But Dark Nation is gone, has been dead for two years.

Much has changed since then.

* * * * *

It's a meeting that is more about publicity than substance; all the details have been worked out long before. But it is essential publicity: the Neo-ShinRa Corporation's president, Rufus Shinra, meeting with Reeve Tuesti, Director of the World Regenesis Organisation, to sign binding agreements pertaining to the recovery of areas affected by ShinRa's mako reactors, and to limit the technologies used in power generation to those sources deemed safe and acceptable by the global watchdog. It's been all over the news.

So Tseng is not particularly surprised when they are attacked on their way into the building.

There are protesters, people who cannot forget their hate of ShinRa and all it encompassed. They yell and shout and several of them throw projectiles at the car – rotten fruit, messy but essentially harmless. Rufus is, as always, dressed in a white suit; not even a splatter mars the fabric as he steps out of the car and walks up the steps. Several of the protesters break the line, and WRO security moves to intercept them. The Turks shift around Rufus, placing themselves between him and the threat, and that's when the real attackers appear.

“All right!” Reno hollers with glee, moving towards them , the end of his baton already sparking. Tseng frowns, because that scarcely conveys they sort of image they want, but it's not like he can ask Reno to attack people with a little more restraint. He draws his pistol, and takes down three of them with careful shots. But they're mixed in with the protesters that are surging towards them, and he misses one attacker until they're too close, gun coming up to aim at Rufus from a distance of only a few meters away.

Tseng moves to shield Rufus, pushing him aside and down. The bullet hits his gun arm; his pistol nearly drops from nerveless fingers. He hears Rufus snarl, then the sharp, crisp retort of Rufus's gun, close enough to deafen. A single head-shot takes down the would-be assassin; Tseng thinks that the other five bullets to the torso really were overkill.

“Get inside,” Tseng orders, then repeats it to Reno and Rude, who are currently unharmed. “Get him inside, stay on him. Elena and I will handle clean-up.” With his uninjured arm, he helps Rufus to his feet, pushes him in the direction of the door. He's not expecting the brief resistance, assumes that the reason Rufus turns to scowl at him is a result of the manhandling, but then Rufus squares his shoulders, straightens his jacket and tie as if he has all the time in the world – Tseng curses his sense of showmanship – and walks calmly into the WRO headquarters, Reno and Rude falling in alongside him as easily as if they'd choreographed it.

The attackers are all down, and the WRO soldiers are moving to secure them. Blood is still running down his arm as Tseng tightens his grip on his own weapon, then steps forward to ensure that they're remembering to actually secure and disarm the prisoners before administering any first aid. The WRO may be a charitable organisation, but the Turks are not, especially when someone has just tried to kill their president.

Sure enough, one of the so-called security force is quicker to stop the bleeding than check for other weapons. Tseng allows himself to snap at the hapless soldier before removing a knife and a second gun – hidden at the ankle, where Tseng keeps a clutch-piece of his own. The man looks embarrassed, and well he should; Tseng is going to have words with Reeve about the general ineffectiveness of his security.

* * * * *

By the time Rufus's meeting is over, Tseng has wrangled an agreement out of the WRO's security forces that the Turks will be present when the prisoners are interrogated. The head of their security had been reluctant to do so, given the Turks' reputation, but it was Rufus who had been the target of the attack and Tseng was quite willing to allow the use of sodium pentathol rather than brute force. For information-gathering purposes, it was far more reliable. Unfortunately, they still refused to hand the prisoners over to them, which was disappointing.

He'd deal with that issue later.

Tseng has called in several Turk teams to conduct another sweep of the area. The car that had been pelted by rotten produce has been replaced by another identical model, free of vegetable matter. His suit jacket has also been replaced, swapped out with another, less visible Turk for one that lacks a bullet hole and bloodstains. With his wounded arm bandaged underneath, he looks as pristine as when he arrived. It's only upon closer examination one might notice a shirt-sleeve missing where the other shows at the cuff.

The protesters have all but disbanded, only a few die-hards holding on. Most of them were completely unprepared for actual physical violence to erupt, were shocked and dismayed and a little frightened by the earlier events, and eager to distance themselves from it. Turks are keeping a hard eye on those who have stayed.

When Rufus emerges from the WRO building, he's smiling and unconcerned. It's a good show for the media, who now outnumber the protesters. While Tseng knows that the whole meeting – carefully scripted because Reeve knows the benefit of a decent spin just as much as Rufus does – was filmed by one of the major news networks, this is a chance for other media outlets to get their own sound-bytes. Rufus pauses at the top of the step to give a brief statement and answer a few questions. His relaxed attitude suggests that what happened before was inconsequential, and Tseng knows that by the time it hits the evening news, the headlines will reflect as much.

Tseng tries not to dwell on the thought of snipers.

Finally, Rufus is in the car. Elena takes the seat across from them, Reno replacing the current driver with Rude in the front seat beside him. The second the final car door closes and they pull away from the curb, Rufus's expression changes completely, going grim.

“Take off your jacket,” he orders shortly. “I want to see it.”

“It's already dressed,” Tseng protests even as he moves to comply. With his jacket gone, it's obvious that his shirt sleeve has been removed at the shoulder. A white bandage circles his upper arm, a tiny point of red seeping through. Not much, though; a fellow Turk had stitched the wound closed for him after removing the bullet.

“Rude, you carry Restore?” It's not really a question; Rufus knows precisely what his best Turks prefer to carry in the way of materia. They'd gone light today, as materia is a touchy subject with the WRO – it is condensed and crystallised mako, after all – but Rude pops a small green orb from one of his leather gloves and hands it to Rufus.

Rufus slides it into his wristband, switching it out with a status materia.

“That's not necessary,” Tseng protests, realising that Rufus is intending to heal it himself. He can have it taken care of when he gets back to headquarters.

“You're the head of my personal security,” Rufus says firmly. “I refuse to have you out of commission any longer than strictly necessary.” With quick, deft fingers he removes the bandage, exposing the wound.

A green haze appears, first around Rufus's wrist, then over the bullet wound. Tseng feels the familiar wash of heat, followed by some discomfort as the healing takes effect. It's not all that pleasant, a slightly painful pins-and-needles sensation that leaves him feeling vaguely itchy afterwards. Rufus checks the wound after the first application – nearly fully healed – and then casts again.

“Move your arm.”

Tseng flexes, checking mobility. It's fine.

“You'll need to remove the stitches,” Rufus points out, and Tseng takes out one of his knives, cutting the knots and sliding the thread out. It helps a little with the itching feeling. Rufus watches the entire time, sitting back with a satisfied expression only when Tseng dons his suit jacket once more.

As he does so, he glances across to where Elena is sitting. She's looking away, a slight smile on her lips.

Tseng doesn't wonder what she find so amusing. He feels ridiculous, the head of the Turks just sitting there while Rufus fusses over an injury gained in the line of duty. It offends his sense of proper behaviour, and embarrasses him. Rufus is his employer and the person he is supposed to protect, not a nurse.

He knows better than to tell Rufus that. It will just get him an impatient look; the sort of look he gets when he suggest that Rufus might want to let his security take care of some things. Sometimes Tseng wishes that Rufus didn't know how to shoot so well, was willing to stand back and let the Turks handle Turk business.

And then there are times like today, when Tseng is damned glad Rufus can kill anyone who comes after him.

* * * * *

It's a thought still on his mind as he walks into Rufus's office later in the evening. The news is playing on a television screen. Tseng has already seen it, and the coverage of Rufus's meeting with Reeve is a public relations masterpiece. It shows Reeve and Rufus calmly discussing their concerns with each other, both of them setting their signatures to agreements that are being hailed as a 'huge step forward'. Some of the channels have a slight edge of 'ShinRa getting what it deserves' to their reporting, but Rufus's pleased attitude while answering questions on the steps of the WRO building counters any idea that he has been pressured into anything.

The coverage of the attack is quite brief by comparison and, in light of the positive spin given to the rest of it, is referred to as an 'unfortunate incident'. Tseng is quite pleased to note that none of the cameras had an angle that showed it was Rufus who killed the final attacker. All in all, he would have to agree that yes, the day was a success, if only because the more people think of Rufus Shinra in a positive way, the less likely they are to try and kill him.

Rufus is standing by the unfinished windows, looking out, a glass in one hand. It's not the best view; the thick plastic sheeting is semi-opaque, reducing the lights of Edge to a smeared glow. The wind has died down, so that it only flutters slightly in the breeze.

“I wish you wouldn't stand there.” Tseng speaks before he even realises he's thinking it. Rufus turns while he blinks at himself, because he is not the accustomed to making unexpected outbursts, even if they are perfectly reasonable statements.

“Don't worry, Tseng. I have no intention of jumping off of any more buildings. Once was enough.” Rufus smiles, and finishes the last mouthful of alcohol in his glass. “Would you like one?” he asks, holding up his glass in illustration. “I was just celebrating.”

“I would like,” Tseng says evenly, “for you to stop taking such unnecessary risks. It is my job to protect you, and I cannot do so if you insist on joining every fire-fight, or standing in plain view of potential snipers in order to chat with the media.”

“The latter was a perfectly necessary risk. I won't live as though I'm afraid of the crackpots out there, and I need to change people's perceptions of the company if we're to succeed,” Rufus disagrees. “And as for the fire-fight, I was already there.”

“You should have gone straight inside as soon as the shooting started,” Tseng argues. “It's _our_ job to get shot at, not yours.”

“And I dislike it when other people shoot at _my_ people,” Rufus says, voice taking on a slight edge. “I assure you, I am not trying to get myself killed.”

“It would be more convincing if you acted like it,” Tseng snaps. They both stare at each other a moment, and then Rufus sighs.

“I stand by what I said earlier, Tseng. I will not live as though I'm afraid – I have a company to rebuild and part of that is convincing people that we're confident of our success. I can't do that if I'm hiding behind four walls and refusing to come out. But -” Rufus holds up a hand to forestall anything Tseng might say, “I will do my best to cooperate when you think there is a valid threat. As you said, it is your job, and I should let you do it. So, no more _unnecessary_ ,” he stresses the word slightly, “risks.”

It's probably the best he's going to get, Tseng knows. And it might well go straight out the door the next time someone starts shooting at them because Rufus is not the kind of man to just stand by and let somebody else take all the risks. It's one of the reasons the Turks gave him their loyalty in the first place. But at least Rufus is trying; he doesn't deliberately set out to make their job more difficult. Tseng imagines this will not be the last time they have this discussion, and he does know Rufus will probably never throw himself off of a building ever again. He still relaxes a little now that Rufus has moved away from the window, though.

Rufus is watching him, an assessing look. “Perhaps one unnecessary risk,” he murmurs, and Tseng is about to say something when Rufus steps close and kisses him.

Tseng's mind is still stuck on the unspoken _“What -?”_ as he notes that Rufus tastes like expensive whiskey, that even though he's usually quite forceful in nature, in this he's hesitant. He finally registers it – _Rufus is kissing me; why?_ – and then he's kissing Rufus back, feeling the younger man relax against him, and it feels like an entirely natural thing to do.

Perhaps things have changed even more than Tseng thought while he wasn't paying attention. But this is something he thinks he won't mind becoming accustomed to at all.


End file.
